


His Good Sweater

by wingsofanillyrian



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Multichapter, Reader Insert, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-23
Packaged: 2021-03-25 01:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30081261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingsofanillyrian/pseuds/wingsofanillyrian
Summary: A chance encounter at the French GP a few years ago leads to you becoming friends with Pierre Gasly. But what happens when that friendship becomes more? Will your relationship survive or crumble under pressure?
Relationships: Pierre Gasly/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 13





	1. Confessions

**Author's Note:**

> This is a multi chapter fic! Currently have two parts written, and about 6 more chapters outlined. Please leave me feedback if you enjoy it! Fnd me on tumblr as @lightsovermonaco

Pierre wore his best sweater to grab drinks with you. He must have packed it with tonight in mind; he didn't have any other reason to be wearing anything that wasn't loaded with Alpha Tauri logos on a race weekend. He picked it out for you, and only for you.

For some reason, that was the first thought you had as he walked into the dim London bar, eyes scanning the packed tables for you. You had purposely chosen one at the back, giving you some semblance of privacy in hopes of avoiding any prying eyes. You only got to see Pierre a handful of times a year, and you didn't want too many adoring fans interrupting the few precious hours you had. Spotting you, he waved off the woman that had approached him and walked over.

You wouldn't dream of looking away from his dazzling smile that felt like home as he strode toward you. The dim blueish lighting cast shadows on his features, but you couldn't miss the joy lining his face. Your chest swelled, a toothy smile breaking across your face as you waved.

God, Pierre was gorgeous. He may have been your best friend, but the way he filled out the stone gray sweater had you wishing you were so much more.

"Damn, does it feel good to see you," He says, kissing your cheek before taking the seat across from you. "How have you been? Do you miss France yet?"

You are eternally grateful for the low lighting so he can't see just how much the easy, friendly gesture affects you. You laugh off the tingling feeling left in the wake of his lips, sliding the drink you had ordered on his behalf across the table. Whiskey on the rocks, his favorite after a long flight. "I've been doing fine, better now that my best friend is finally here."

You had met Pierre by chance during the French grand prix a few years ago. You'd never really been interested in Formula 1, but your dad had insisted you and your brother use the VIP tickets he'd won in a raffle. Though the track in Le Castellete was only an hour or so from your hometown, you'd never visited. A once in a lifetime sibling bonding experience, your dad called it, even though you knew nothing about the sport. You knew the real reason was so your dad didn't have to endure your brother babbling about statistics the whole weekend, but you didn't mind. At least you got to experience something new.

At one point, you had stopped to tie your shoe and your brother had been too busy hunting down a passing driver to realize you'd stopped. By the time you stood, he was nowhere to be seen and wouldn't answer his phone. You walked dumbly around the paddock for a few minutes before Pierre found you, helping you gain your bearings and staying by your side until you finally reunited with your brother.

Pierre appreciated that you didn't fawn over him like everyone else. After all, you'd had no idea who he was. For all you knew, he was just another fan of the sport. You had thought him gorgeous the moment you laid eyes on him, sure, but you'd had no idea who he was. You'd exchanged numbers that day, thinking nothing of it. It wasn't until his face flashed on the jumbo screen on Sunday that recognition clicked.

You texted him after the race, apologizing for not recognizing him. He'd insisted he had found your utter lack of knowledge refreshing, and invited you and your brother to visit with the team that night.

After that, the two of you became fast friends. You'd visited him on various race weekends over the past few years, and he always made a point to grab dinner with you when he was in town. This year, instead of meeting after the French Grand Prix where you'd met, you agreed to grab drinks the Thursday before he raced at Silverstone.

"How has the transition to London been? Uni going good?" He rattled off questions, trying to fit as much as possible in the little time you had.

"Studying abroad hasn't been so bad," You tell him, taking a sip of your drink. "I've made plenty of friends in my major, so we study together for any complicated lessons. My only complaint is that the weather could be better. But it gets me away from my nosy brother, at the very least."

Pierre grins, nodding in agreement. "He really wants us to get together, doesn't he?"

Eyes rolling, you cross your arms. "I keep telling him it won't happen, but he just can't stop plotting."

Your brother loved the idea of you dating his favorite driver, and didn't shy away from letting either of you know it. You had to admit, you didn't disagree with him, but it would never happen. Pierre was your friend because you didn't go crazy over him. Harboring feelings for him was completely out of the question, and yet… 

"Right," He says with a belated chuckle. "Us together. That's crazy." Pierre stares down at the short glass he holds in three fingers. He swirls the caramel liquid, completely lost in thought. The noise of the bar rises and falls with the music, and you lean a little closer to him.

"Hey," You say quietly, brushing your fingers over the back of his hand, "You alright?"

"Yeah," He says quickly. "Nervous about the weekend, that's all." You knew it was a lie, but you let it slide, trying humor instead.

"What, you mean when you take pole at the most legendary track on the calendar and lead the entire race to ultimately take home a P1 finish?"

The way his eyes crinkled with his small smile made your heart stutter. He was beautiful, whether dressed in a white Alpha Tauri race suit or in the feather soft sweater that you couldn't stop imagining laying in a heap on your apartment floor. The scene played in your mind: his hands under your red dress, hungry and searching. Fingers finding the wetness between your thighs as he-

"How do you always know exactly what to say to bring me back?" 

You blink, the fantasy dissolving like the ice in your drinks. Your answer is automatic. "Because I know you." 

He tips his head to the side, eyes narrowing in challenge. "Do you?"

"Of course I do." He scoffs, and you cross your arms defensively. "Really? I know everything there is to know. Like how you keep that laminated four leaf clover in your wallet cause its been with you for every race, and the one time you left it behind you crashed out on lap one. I know you'd rather suntan on a beach in Monaco than train in the off season, but you do it anyway. And most importantly, I know that you can't go out on track without first listening to the playlist that I curated two years ago for that specific purpose."

"While all of that is true, it's all racing related."

Your brows knit together. "So?" Racing was really what his life revolved around. He didn't have time for much else. It made sense that you knew the most about that side of him.

"I bet there's one important thing that you don't know about me, off track." Pierre's lips twitch upward, yours following suit. You'd play along with his little game, if only because it had managed to chase away the shadows that had clouded his eyes.

"Oh? What's that?"

"How absolutely wild I am about you."

A beat of silence passes before you let out a dumb giggle. You can't stop it as it morphs into a full blown fit of laughter, complete with you clutching your splitting sides.

"Shit, Pierre, you're hilarious. That's a good one." You wipe the tear from your eye, taking another long sip of your drink in an attempt to drown the wanting. It was cruel to tease you like that, but he wouldn't know. You'd spent the past six months silently nursing your hopeless crush on him, keeping it carefully hidden.

Belatedly, you realize he hasn't said a word. That same damned smirk plays on his plush lips as he watches you intently, waiting for you to put the pieces together.

"You aren't serious."

He leans back, his casual posture completely at odds with your racing pulse. "What if I was?"

You fiddle with the charm of your necklace, letting his words sink in. If he wasn't kidding, it meant he had just laid himself bare before you. Pierre was a private person, always held his cards close to his chest. For him to brazenly show you his hand in such a nonchalant way was something you never expected.

"I would say…" You swallow thickly, nerves turning the words to lead. What if everything changed once you admitted it? You couldn't stand to lose him, not when your world had changed the moment you met him. The pain of it would be too much to bear. 

Drink forgotten, Pierre's warm hand covers yours reassuringly. You know he can read the emotion on your face; you were an open book to him. Voice firm, he urges, "Say it."

You inhale shakily, slowly bring your eyes up to his. God, you could get lost in those oceans of blue so easily. You wanted to get lost in him, memorizing every landmark of him along the way. Gathering your courage, you decide to take the leap, praying he'll catch you.

"I would say that you aren't the only one that feels that way."

With reflexes you could never match, Pierre is leaning across the tiny round table and crashing his lips to yours. It takes you a moment to realize what's happening before you sink into him, your hand gripping his forearm as his cups your cheek. The first brush of his tongue against your lower lip is a bolt of pure ecstasy, propelling you off the sticky bar stool until you're standing right in front of him, your lips never leaving his.

His knees slide apart, allowing you to fit yourself against him. Neither of you could care less that you were making out so publicly, where anyone could snap a photo and send it to the media. Your head was all him, the pure bliss of exploring each other's mouths for the first time. No matter how often you'd dreamed of this moment, it could never live up to the real thing. 

One deft hand winds its way under the short hem of your dress, callouses scraping over your touch-starved skin before settling beneath the curve of your ass.

The worst part was you knew it wouldn't last long; he had a race this weekend and on Monday he would be off to the next destination. The thought of him leaving so soon filled you with a sense of urgency that you couldn't ignore. You had to make this night count; it might be the only one you had for months. 

"Please let me get you out of here," He murmurs some time later. Your only answer is to nip at his swollen lip, savoring the way his breath hitches when you do so. You were dizzy with desire, months of pent up passion finally released.

"Call us an Uber, just let me keep kissing you until it gets here." You settle for leaving wet kisses along his jaw while he quickly pulls out his phone to fulfill your request. One arm winds around your waist, keeping you pressed to him while his attention is split.

"Fuck," He whispers when you tug his earlobe between your teeth, utterly unable to contain yourself. His phone clatters to the table, his hand flying to your side. "Cut it out before I take this too far."

You pay his warning no heed, instead repeating the action. "Maybe I want you to take it too far."

His head falls back as your lips trace along the plane of his jaw. "Mercy," He pleads, but makes no move to stop you as you slide a hand up his thigh. His arousal already evident after only a few sly touches and a handful of minutes of your lips on his body.

"Scratch the Uber," You breathe, finally pulling back to grant him a moment's clemency. "Bathrooms here are big enough for two."

Blue irises are swallowed by black, his pupils blowing wide. "I refuse to fuck you for the first time in a dirty public bathroom where I can't properly worship you."

That same dominance he exerts over the race track seeps into his voice, making your stomach flip. Eyes hungry, he continues, "I've been dreaming of this for over a year. You live in every corner of my mind, all hours of the day. I've had plenty of time to contemplate how I want to take you. Soft and slow, getting to know every curve, or hard and fast, bent over the car in the garage on a race weekend. Of how relentlessly I'll fuck you once I finally get the chance."

You have to clench your knees together to keep from shaking. "And which have you decided?"

"Oh, I'm going to take my time with you, sweet girl. I'll have plenty of time to make you beg later."

The promise makes you shiver, heat flooding through you. "Are you going to be in trouble for staying with me tonight?" Because the way he was talking, no way in hell were you letting him out of your sight before absolutely necessary.

"I can't stay more than a few hours." For the first time since your admission he pauses, that raging inferno dimming to dull embers in seconds.

You pull back at his hesitation, scanning his face. "So leave early. I don't mind." As long as you got him to bed, you didn't care. You'd have plenty of time in the future, as he already pointed out. Your lips found his again, desperate for him to return your fervor.

"Wait."

You stop immediately, untangling yourself from him and taking a step back. You didn't want to push to far and ruin this moment, this _perfect_ fucking moment. Desire warred with concern, his mouth twisting. Your heart sunk; he was already second guessing this.

"Talk to me," you say softly, barely audible over the noise of the bar. When he stays silent, you take his hand, rubbing your thumb over the back of it.

When he finally speaks, his voice is softer than you've ever heard it. "I feel like I'm forcing you into something you won't like."

"What?" Confused, you shake your head. "I want you-"

"Yeah, but do you really want _this?_ " He asks, gesturing around the bar, the eyes watching you. "I can't promise you privacy, and I can't be here with you for three quarters of the year. Even in the off season I'll likely be in Austria most of the time, fine tuning the car and posing for cameras."

You open your mouth to protest, but he reads your mind. "And I don't want you missing uni for me, either."

You nod, sensing he wasn't done. You let him ponder how to phrase whatever it is that's on his mind, comforting him with your simple touch.

"I don't want you to feel like you're on the back burner in my life. You deserve better than that. If I could give you the moon, I would. But…" He pauses again, properly threading his fingers through yours and finally meeting your eyes. "I can only offer you my heart and pray that you'll take it."

"I'll guard it," You promise him, gently squeezing his hand. "I'll take whatever you can give me and I will be glad for it, Pierre. Being a driver is what makes you _you_ , and I wouldn't dream of asking you to change that." You lean in, pressing your lips to the worried crease of his brows. "I want you. Any part you'll let me have."

"And besides," You add, glancing around you and trying to coax a smile from him, "Do you think my priority is privacy?"

"I've seen how you shy away from cameras when you're in the paddock," He says softly. You chew your lip. Sometimes he knew you too well. True, you didn't like being photographed with him, but only because you didn't want rumors swirling. He didn't want people in his business and you respected that, going out of your way to obscure your face or outright hide from cameras when they were nearby.

But you would be proud to be seen with him. If he wanted you the way you wanted him, you wanted the world to know that you belonged to him, and vice versa.

"I…"

His phone lit up, a notification stating your Uber had arrived. The intrusion breaks the spell over both of you.

Pierre sighs and releases your hand. "Let's get you home."

Your eyes remained pinned to the spot between his shoulder blades as you wound through the crowd, fingers flexing at your sides. Crisp London air chilled you as you made your way to the suv parked at the curb. Pierre opened the door and wordlessly let you slip in first, refusing to look at you.

It would be a long ride home.


	2. My Champion

Neither of you spoke the entire ride, leaving you alone with your thoughts. You hope he didn't regret telling you how he felt. The memory of his lips still singed your skin, and you played those minutes over and over in your mind, memorizing them. 

Had you made a mistake in trying to protect him from public scrutiny? The last thing you wanted was for him to doubt how you felt. And after hiding from cameras these years… You could see why he would hesitate. You glance over at him to discover he's staring intently out the window. You see the gears spinning as he tried to decide what to do.

Brakes squeak as the driver pulls up outside your apartment building. Pierre follows you out, lingering on the sidewalk with his hands stuffed in his pockets as you fumble with your keys. You curse softly when you drop them.

Frustrated, you turn to face him. "Are you coming up?"

"Do you want me to?"

The uncertainty in the words breaks your heart. It's enough to stave off the frustration brought on by his silence, replacing it with compassion. "I meant what I said, Pierre. I'll take whatever you're willing to give. And… I think I can handle the press. Please don't cut me off."

He crosses the sidewalk, stopping just out of your reach. "Would you want me even if I can't always be here? We would have to steal what time we can. It wouldn't be much while I'm..."

"I would rather have five minutes than no time at all." You take a step, meeting him in the middle. "And when you're not in London," You murmur, taking his hand in yours and laying it over your heart, "You'll be here. Give me your heart, Pierre, and I will cherish it."

“It’s yours.” Pierre took your free hand and placed it over his own heart, fluttering as quickly as a hummingbird's wings beneath your fingers. "It's always been yours."

This time you move first, linking your arms around his neck and kissing him softly. It's less needy than at the bar; you've both had time to think and process what was said. Without the element of surprise, you're able to be sweeter, enjoying it more. Pierre walks you back until the brick of the building digs into your shoulders, exposed by the low back of your dress.

You take a moment to marvel at the fact that he's once more shamelessly making out with you, this time more publicly than the first. The bite of the brick is offset by the soft press of his lips to your neck, your fingers lazily dragging through his hair. You’re too tangled up in each other to notice the man waiting to get inside until he clears his throat. Pierre breaks away and steps aside, guiding you along with a hand on the small of your back.

You both laugh when the door slams. Something that would have embarrassed you under any other circumstances didn’t bother you when you were with Pierre; it felt natural.

You rest your forehead on his, breathing in the scent of him. “Come on.” 

You get distracted by him on your way up to the apartment, stopping periodically to steal kisses. When you finally make it to your door, Pierre dares to smack your ass, making you yelp. You grin at him over your shoulder, finally getting the door open and stepping inside. 

He's on you immediately, pressing you flush against the door as soon as it's closed. You pay no heed to the pain of the doorknob jabbing into your back as he pushes the hem of your dress over your hips, fingers digging into bare flesh.

His brow drops to your shoulder, breath hot on your skin as he runs a single digit over the thin fabric covering your soaking center. You moan at the contact, sending a jolt of electricity through your brain. He pulls your panties aside, sliding that treacherous finger through your slick folds. 

"Please," You breathe. You'd waited so long for this moment, played through the scenario so many times. All you wanted was him, confirmation that this was real, it was happening, he wanted you.

Sparks fly behind your closed eyelids as he slips a finger inside you. So different than you'd imagined, longer and thicker than your own you'd pretended was his so many times. 

"Fucking perfect," He groans, his other hand on your stomach pinning you in place as you squirm. You can hardly process the pleasure coursing through you, let alone respond to agree with him.

"Wish I would've known sooner." He slips another finger inside you and you whimper, the sensation overwhelming. "If I'd have known you sounded so sweet…" He trails off, thumb finding your clit and dragging another sound from your throat.

"I'm- I-"

Pierre stops suddenly, withdrawing his fingers despite your protests. "Can't have you finish too early, can I?" His eyes blaze as they meet yours, and he slowly raises his fingers to his lips to lick them clean. The sight would be enough to make your knees buckle if he hadn't been holding you up.

"H-how long do we have?" You ask shakily. It had to be past midnight already, so you knew it wouldn't be long. Checking his watch, he pops his fingers out of his mouth to reply.

"Three hours or so, then I should be getting back."

You nod, trying to string thoughts together. "Okay, plenty of time."

Pierre yanks you forward by your hips, your bodies flush. This close, you can feel his arousal on your hip, straining against his jeans.

"Not nearly enough time for everything I want to do to you."

"Then pick your favorite," You taunt, slipping a hand under the neck of his sweater, fingers splaying across his shoulder blade. You tilt your head, peppering his jaw with kisses.

"Mmm. Can't do that, it's not race day."

You pause, pulling back to look at him. "Oh?"

He shrugs, grinning. "Quickie in the trailer after a win, of course."

You let your head fall back and laugh. "You really have thought about this, haven't you?"

"Babe, you're all I think about."

You're not even sure he knows he's said it. But the term of endearment is what does it for you. Its confirmation, cementing his decision.

"I'll tell you what," You murmur, tracing his lips with the pad of your thumb, "You take me to bed now and win this weekend, and maybe we can let that little fantasy play out."

"I'll take you up on that offer." Quick as lightning, he grabs you by the waist and picks you up. One arm wraps behind your knees, the other just under your backside. You squeal, half heartedly pounding your fists against his back. 

It takes him a few tries to find the door to your bedroom; this apartment is new territory to him. When he lets out a frustrated noise under his breath, you take pity on him. 

"All the way at the end of the hall," You tell him, then swat at his backside. "Hurry up!"

He squeezes your ass in reply. The door swings open, thumping against the wall. You let out an oof as he plops you on the bed, hair splaying around you.

Pierre's eyes don't leave yours as he makes quick work of his shirt and jeans, slipping out of them and leaving them piled on the floor. He's fulfilled your earlier fantasy without even realizing. Returning the favor, you pull the flowing dress up over your head and toss it aside while he stands at the foot of the bed. You lay back, his eyes eat up the bare skin, licking his lips at the sight of you. Thank goodness you'd listened to your gut and worn matching underwear.

"You're a fucking angel." His hand slips beneath his boxers and you smile, reaching behind you to unclasp your lacy bra. You drop your chin, looking up at him through your lashes.

"You have a dirty mouth when you get worked up, Pierre." You take your time sliding the straps down your arms, teasing him like he'd done to you earlier. He grips the edge of the bed to keep himself upright as you slide your underwear down your legs. You toss them at him with a smirk. He swats them aside, too busy staring at you. 

You spread your knees, allowing him an unimpeded view of your dripping folds. He groans, head falling forward.

"You'll be the death of me."

"You gonna keep whispering sweet words or are you gonna make good on your promise?"

"Don't worry," He murmurs, shifting to rest his weight on his forearms, "I'm a man of my word." 

His lips meet your left shin, one hand sliding up the other. You gasp, eyes fluttering shut in anticipation. He trails kisses up and over your knee, pausing when he reaches it. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers, he tugs them off before climbing onto the bed.

You couldn't help but let your gaze drop, mouth going dry at the sight of his cock. You didn't have time to think before his mouth was back on your skin, nipping at your hip, purple marks blooming in his wake.

Hot air curls over your center. Tangling your fingers in his tawny hair, your toes curl. He makes you wait for it, only striking when you let out a low plea. Tentatively, his tongue flicks out to brush over your folds. The tiny touch is enough for you to buck your hips, begging for more. A strong arm locks across your hips, keeping them in place.

You glance down, Pierre's blue eyes meeting yours from his position between your legs. His free hand spreads your lips, baring your sex to him. And when his tongue slides flat across your clit, the bolt of pleasure it sends through you makes you throw your head back, eyes squeezed shut.

Your fingers tighten, a silent plea for him to continue. He hums against you, fucking you with his tongue like he was a dying man and you were his last meal. 

"Pierre- '' Your thighs clamp around his head as he slides a finger back inside you, matching the pace to his tongue. You whine, urging him on and grinding your hips against his face. Mercifully, he doesn't stop this time and you cum hard enough to see stars, turning to jelly beneath him. Panting, Pierre comes up for air, licking his lips clean.

"That was…" You start, then rest an arm over your eyes. You're too spent to form a full sentence.

"Perfect," He finishes for you. His weight lifts from you, and you peek from under the shelter of your arm to see him grabbing his boxers.

"Excuse me, what do you think you're doing?" 

He looks over a shoulder at you. "Putting my clothes on?"

"And why, pray tell, would you do that?"

He straightens, a smirk playing on his shining lips. God, that was you that still shone there, that he could still taste. "You telling me you wanna come again?"

"I was told you were a man of your word. I seem to remember something about worshipping? And talk of fucking relentlessly?" You crook your finger at him. "Get back here and prove it."

Clothes forgotten, he rejoins you, kneeling between your still spread legs. "Tell me what you want, baby."

You nudge your hips forward, center just brushing his cock. "I want you to fuck me so hard I can barely walk to the paddock tomorrow. I want everyone to have to guess what's gotten into me when I can’t keep my hands off you."

Pierre groans in approval, pushing an inch into you. It's only an inch, but _god_ does it feel perfect. Like he was moulded by the heavens for you and you alone. Your breath catches in your chest as the sensation washes over you, dousing you in white hot desire.

"More," You purr. "And let me kiss you."

When his lips attach to yours, he thrusts his hips, seating himself inside you. You both moan, the sounds mixing into your own personal symphony. You cup the back of his neck, tongues clashing as he begins to move. Spots dance in your vision when his cock hits that sweet spot, your second release rapidly building.

"Fucking beautiful," He mumbles against your mouth, and drags you lip between his teeth. You whimper, back arching into him. Your name tumbles from his lips like pebbles on a mountainside, quick and sharp. Your second orgasm shatters through you as you quake around him, walls tightening around his cock.

“That’s it baby,” He groans, your nails digging into his skin hard enough to draw pinpricks of blood. Pierre gives a few more hard thrusts before pulling out, pumping his shaft and spilling onto your stomach. He jerks forward with the force of his orgasm, catching himself with one hand before he falls on you. He stays that way for a minute, regaining his senses before leaning in to press a tender kiss to your brow before rising.

He takes a step towards the door and pauses. "Bathroom is…?"

"Door on the right." You smile because he smiles.

He comes back with a wash cloth, running it between your legs and across your stomach. He steps into his boxers before going to your closet, pulling out an oversized tshirt. One of his, left behind at your home after one of his stays there. "You have a pair of sweats I can get for you?"

And the fact that he's gathering fresh clothes for you is so domestic and heartfelt that you just might burst. 

"How about just your sweater?" You ask. Cherry on top of the sundae, at this point, but it was worth a shot.

"You're gonna steal this, aren't you?" His mouth tugs upward as you sit up, and he helps you into the stone gray sweater.

You bring the fabric to your nose, his cedar cologne addling your senses. "Probably. You can wear that old shirt home."

He slides the shirt over his head, chuckling. "Fair enough. At least I don't have to walk out shirtless." 

Your brow furrows. He lingers at the bedside a moment too long. "Do you have to go?"

Running a hand through his hair, he sighs and glances at the clock. "In a half hour or so."

You wiggle under the covers, opening your arms. "Can you come here then?" 

He obliges, settling in with an arm draped over you. You nuzzle into his chest, the scent of your fabric softener mingling with the smell of him. Your limbs tangle with his, the skin to skin contact comforting. 

You're teetering on the edge of consciousness when he says, "How do I already miss you when you're right here?"

"I know the feeling," You slur, voice thick with sleep. "I always get this way when we're together."

"How do you deal with it? The heartbreak?"

"By telling myself that I'll see you again. Sometimes I lie to myself and say I'll fly out and surprise you. Anything to make it stop hurting."

Pierre's cheek rests against your hair, his thumb rubbing circles on your shoulder. "Would you wanna come visit me next weekend? I could get you a ticket for Friday night so you don't have to miss school."

"I have to work," You explain, holding him a little tighter. You can hear time ticking away with each passing minute, and you're desperately hoping he forgets he has to leave. 

"Maybe three weeks in Baku then."

"Maybe."

A few silent minutes pass before he sighs. "I have to go, babe."

Your heart flips. You untangle your leaden limbs and let him rise. You sit up, taking the chance to drink him in like it's the first time you've seen him. He pulls on his jeans and offers you his hand.

"Walk me out?" You nod, taking his hand and threading your fingers through his. You pad silently through the apartment, the disappointed silence weighing on you.

"I'll see you Sunday," He says at the door, leaning in to kiss you. "Your pass will get you in at 10, and I'll be waiting for you in my trailer. I told James already, he'll let you into the Alpha building."

Tired and sad, you only nod. You wished he could stay the night, if only so you could stay wrapped up in him while you slept. But that would have to wait for another day.

"It's only a few days," He says, more to himself than you. "I… I'm sorry I have to go."

"I understand. You've got to be up early and your team expects you to be there on time."

Pierre nods again, and you hate the clouds covering his face. You go up on your tiptoes for a kiss, letting your tongue slide over his lips.

"Now go, my champion, and win for me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to update once a week! As of now, I am planning for this to be ten plus chapters. Hope you're enjoying! I'm on tumblr as @lightsovermonaco :)


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